


are we in the clear yet?

by orphan_account



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Reflection, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisbon thinks about Jane. Oneshot. Not set in an exact time, but Red John is still running around out there somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	are we in the clear yet?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Um, right. I don't own anything.  
> A/N: So this is my first fic pretty much ever. I was literally sitting in class today and wrote this all out on notebook paper instead of paying attention to the lecture (yikes). This is a spontaneous move for me, but it's just a short piece with the kinds of scenarios I always have floating around in my head. Hope someone out there can enjoy it :).  
> 

**are we in the clear yet?**

She finds that her thoughts get away from her more and more often lately. She'll be sitting in her office with a small mountain of paperwork in front of her, and she'll zone out. She never used to zone out. She's always been very focused, very driven. She never used to zone out, but then she met Patrick Jane.

At first it wasn't a big deal. It was to be expected even, with all his talk of Red John and revenge and that broken look she saw in his eyes when she wasn't supposed to be looking at him. Of course she would worry about him. Of course she would allow herself to pause her work and say a prayer and find some comfort in that before she turned back to her mountain.

It wasn't like that anymore. Yes, she still worried about him. Of course she did. But worrying was second nature now. Worrying didn't give her pause; worrying was a constant ache in her chest and her prayers for Jane were rooted in the back of her mind and at the bottom of her heart. She never stopped praying. No, worrying for Patrick Jane was as much a given as breathing.

When she started thinking about Jane in a different way, in a way that didn't break her heart a little, it wasn't a big deal. It was a simple thought, a memory, and it could have happened to anyone. She was writing a report on a case when she remembered some stunt that Jane had pulled that at the time she had acted very annoyed by, but now she was smiling thinking about it. And that was it. A memory and a smile. And she moved on.

It wasn't like that anymore either. The first time she imagined herself running her fingers through his hair he was sitting right in front of her, and she immediately wondered if he knew what she was thinking about. He was going off about some crazy theory he had on the killer that she knew might very well be right (but she was prepared to play skeptic anyway) when her eyes trailed upwards to those curly blonde locks that just looked so soft. The image of her hand tangled up in them flashed in her mind for only a fraction of a second before she pushed it away, putting it in a drawer that she would open later that night when she was lying in bed drifting off to sleep.

It wasn't until she knew she loved him that she started entertaining "what if" scenarios. Realizing she loved Patrick Jane wasn't a big deal either. She was more surprised by how unfazed she was by the epiphany than by the epiphany itself. It was another given. She practically sighed and shrugged, "Well, of course I do. That makes sense, I guess." She felt her heart expand and she felt the love that had been there for a long time fill it and she took a breath and she moved on.

The "what if" scenarios were more distracting than thinking about how much she loved him. She would think about how she loved him in her own time. She would think about his good heart as she got ready for bed and his beautiful mind as she made dinner, and when she woke up in the morning, she would think about how she felt safe and whole knowing she'd see him that day.

When she got to work and he sat across from her with his hands on the table, she wondered what he would do if she reached out and touched one. Not for any particular reason, but right then, right there in that moment, him drinking his tea and her drinking her coffee, what would he do? When Jane speaks to the victim's family later she should be listening and running interference, but instead she's looking at his lips and wondering what would happen if she kissed them. Right then or later that day or tomorrow but not any later, she decides. She doesn't think she can wait any longer.

But she does because she has to.

...

When she finally runs her fingers through his hair, it's as much a surprise to her as it is to him. It was the end of a long day and everyone else had gone home. Jane was sitting on his couch and she had just gone over to say goodbye before she left. It had been a long day and a hard day and a difficult case. A serial killer who managed to take three more victims after they started investigating. They'd caught him that day but she didn't feel like celebrating. She didn't feel like they'd won. It was a hard day and he was sitting on the couch and he smiled at her softly, a smile of comfort and affection and something else, and she felt her heart expand and fill like it did so often. Her hand is in his hair before she notices that it even moved. She feels her heart in her eyes and smiles back at him and they both know what's there. They both know what's there but it's not time and they know that too so they part ways and they lie in bed and think of each other before they fall asleep.


End file.
